


Guardian Angel

by DrakkHammer



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Dwalin is a biker, M/M, Ori Is A Sweetheart, he is also a softie at heart, some violence, standing up for family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrakkHammer/pseuds/DrakkHammer
Summary: This was originally Chapter 19 of Chase the Wind. Since there aren't that many Dworis out there, I thought I'd pull it out, dust it off and put it up on its own.Dwalin is a biker and not the sort you want to mess with. He is called down to Dublin to help Kili out of a jam. That's where his life gets interesting.





	

 

The call came far too early to suit Dwalin. He didn't bother to check the ID, he just growled into the mobile with his usual early morning greeting. "Fuck ya want?"

"Good morning to you too, Dwalin." The voice was low and deep touched with a distinct Irish brogue.

The big biker dragged scarred tattooed knuckles across his eyes. "For fucksake Thorin, what the hell do ya want so early in the morning?"

"It's 10 am and the civilized world is awake." A snort was his only reply. For Dwalin, anything before noon was the crack of dawn and Thorin knew it. But Dwalin knew that his cousin must have a good reason for calling since he hadn't heard from him for the better part of two years.

"I'm assuming yer not calling to ask about the weather in Glasgow." Dwalin sat up on the side of the bed to squint at his bedside clock. Yes, it was just past 10 am. Fuck.

"I wish I was." There was a pause as if Thorin was trying to think of what to say. "I need your help. Actually Kili needs your help."

Dwalin was completely awake now. "What's up wi'ta lad? Why does he need my help?"

He dragged his fingers through his short roach of hair. He had never gotten along particularly well with Thorin and too frequently considered him to be a poncy sell-out, but he loved Kili. If ever there was a wild Gael, it was that lad. He drove his mother to distraction sometimes, but he was a sweet boy who always had a smile on his face that could disarm the devil himself. He wasn't ready for what Thorin was about to tell him.

"Kili's gotten himself into some trouble." Thorin's voice was even, but Dwalin could hear the tension in it. "He was hanging with the wrong crowd. They vandalized some empty buildings and it escalated to petty theft. Some of his friends got in with one of the gangs here and turned to robbery. They took Kili with them. When he found out what they were about he tried to quit." His voice broke and Dwalin filled in.

"And they won't let him."

"He came home beaten so badly he could barely walk. He wouldn't let Dis take him to hospital. He should have gone. He was passing blood, but the boy is…obstinate."

"He's afraid, Thorin, and it's well that he is. Hospitals ask too many questions. If he answers them he won't just be pissin' blood – he’ll be dead. The beatin' was a warning. He won't get a second one from that lot."

Dwalin sat there frowning. Kili had gotten himself into something deep and dark. It was a stupid thing to have done, but he was just a stupid kid. Dwalin took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Kili was family and no one fucked with family.

"I'll be down and take care of it." The wheels were already rolling on how to handle the problem.

"I don't know how to thank you," Thorin said quietly.

Dwalin chuckled. "I do. You're still keepin' house with the poncy chef, aren't ya? Tell him I want one o'his roast beef dinners with all the trimmin's."

It was Thorin's turn to chuckle. "I think that can be arranged."

Dwalin hung up and pulled up his contacts list. The call to Kili proved fruitful. The lad was scared enough to talk and he told Dwalin everything. Thorin was wrong--it wasn't a gang. Usually, his cousin being wrong about anything was a source of amusement, but this time it was a relief. There were only a couple of gangsta wannabes and their associates. He got up, lit a cigarette, and started to get dressed. He wouldn't need his own gang for this. He grinned wolfishly as he slid into his leathers and headed for the door. Their reputation would be more than enough.

Six hours and four beers later, Dwalin's vintage Indian Chief chugged slowly down the narrow street in one of the less upscale parts of Dublin. He parked on the sidewalk and walked down the street until he found number 19. He threw his cigarette down and poked the crooked 9. It obediently continued its descent to hang upside down to look like a weary number 6. Class. Real class.

Doubling his fist, he slammed the side of his hand against the door, making it shiver in its frame. Seconds later it opened with a slam. Standing in the doorway was a large man with stringy red hair that was almost orange. A scruffy beard matched his hair for both color and filth. He was wearing a faded black T-shirt and jeans. Twenty years ago he would have been imposing. Now he was beef gone to seed with an overlay of lard that coated his muscles and bulged out his gut.

He squinted at Dwalin and snarled, "Whaddaya want?"

Dwalin squinted back. "You Michael Flannery?"

"Yeah. Who wants ta know?" He shifted his bulk, trying to look intimidating. It didn't work.

"I gotta message for ya," Dwalin said, his lips quirking up into a little smile.

Flannery stepped forward, right into the Scotsman's fist. It rammed deep into his soft middle, knocking him across the room to sprawl on the floor. Dwalin followed him in. Another man was starting to get up from the table where he'd been sitting drinking a beer. One look from Dwalin had him sitting right back down again.

Dwalin grabbed Flannery by the front of his shirt with his left hand and hauled him off the floor. His right fist connected hard with the Irishman's jaw and there was a low crunching sound as the bone snapped. His scream was high-pitched, the sound sending the man at the table scrambling backward, looking to put the furniture between himself and the raging Scotsman.

Dwalin's fist reared back for another go and Flannery managed to whimper, "No more. For the love'a God, no more. Ya broke muh fuckin' jaw." The Scotsman dropped him and he hit the floor hard and laid there for a minute, his hand cupping his face.

He finally coughed and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Looking up at Dwalin he tried to recognize his assailant. "Who the fuck are ya?" he mumbled, "I ain't never done nothin' ta ya. Why'ja break my fuckin' jaw?"

Dwalin leaned down into the Irishman's face. "I'm Dwalin Fundinson and you best remember that name, maggot. You fucked with ma cousin. You touch him again and you're a dead man. His name is Kili Oakenshield. You best remember that name as well. You go near him and you die. You go near his friends and you die. You go near his family and you die. If I don't like the color of the sky--you die. Are we clear on this?"

Flannery spat again. "You broke my jaw over some scrawny, stupid kid? The fuck’s the matter wi'ya? He's not worth piss and I didn't hit him, Willy over there did." He waved in the general direction of the man cowering behind the table.

Dwalin leaned down and slapped Flannery hard with the flat of his hand, ignoring the high-pitched scream. “That’s for sayin’ my cousin’s ‘not worth piss.’ Anything else you’d like t’add?”

The man cringed away, holding his face and shaking his head.

“Didn’t think so.”

He stood up and advanced on Willy, who was desperately trying to put the table between them. The Scotsman simply leaned over, grabbed a double-handful of shirt-front and dragged the man across. He pissed himself on the way over, but Dwalin didn't care. He wasn't planning on hanging around until he had time to start stinking.

"Kili's just a kid and yuh damned near killed him," Dwalin spat, hauling Willie nose to nose with him.

Dredging up a smidgen of bravado, Willie made an attempt to pull himself upright and said, "He's an eejit, Mike offered him a fair share, but he was threatenin' to run to the shades."

"So you thought you'd scare him to keep him from going to the cops?" Dwalin's grip was tightening and Willie started to have trouble breathing.

"Mike told me to," he whined between gasps. "Why are ya here, kid's a piece a'shit. We've got a good thing goin' we can cut ya in on the action."

He slapped Willy hard. “Guess yuh didn’t notice I don’t like you calling my family names.”

Willy swore and tried to bite Dwalin, who shook him until his teeth rattled. "You piece of scum. Do ya see what's on muh vest?” He pulled Willie's face closer and the man's eyes nearly crossed as he struggled to focus on the helmeted skull flanked by two golden wings. "I ride with the Blue Angels. What makes you think I need a piece of yer action, ya pissin' weasel?

"Kili is family. You. Don't. Fuck. With. My. Family." Each word was punctuated with a blow. The Irishman had started to scream, but his voice dribbled off into silence as Dwalin tightened the hold on his collar. The Scotsman released him and he dropped to lie panting on the floor.

"You left him lyin’ in an alley bleeding. He's only sixteen fucking years old." He lifted Willie and punched him hard in the left kidney. "That's for makin' him piss blood for a week."

The Irishman passed out and Dwalin turned back to Flaherty, who was struggling to sit up. He started to move away, but not fast enough. Dwalin’s boot caught him low in the side. "That's a little gift for yer kidney too. Just so ya don't forget me."

The Scotsman started for the door, stopped and then turned around. Flannery whimpered and tried to move but he only made it a few inches. Ignoring him, Dwalin booted his mobile phone toward him. "Just in case you want to call an ambulance, maggot."

He strode out of the flat, kicked his Chief into gear and roared off, thinking about dinner.

When he got in a better part of the city he pulled into a parking space in front of a small pub. He went in, nodded to the men at the bar and ordered a Guinness.

"I don't want trouble, mate," the bartender told him with a stern look.

Dwalin arched an eyebrow in a "who me?" way and said, "Neither do I. I just want a quiet drink. Did I come to the wrong place for that?" He spoke carefully, losing his Glaswegian accent as he tried to look harmless. The colors he was wearing said he was anything but and the barkeep had a right to be concerned. But all he wanted was his Guinness and a place to make a couple of phone calls.

The glass of stout, topped by a good head carrying the signature shamrock drawn into the foam by the skillful bartender, was placed in front of him. He paid with enough for a good tip and carried his drink to a rear booth. He took a long swallow and then relaxed. It had gone better than expected. He didn't like beating people up. Never had. There was no bully in him; he'd had enough of being on the receiving end as a kid. But sometimes the end justifies the means, as they say. He flexed his skinned knuckles and pulled out his mobile.

Thorin answered quickly, keeping him on hold for only a minute or so.

"It's done. I don't think they'll be messin' wi'the lad again." His voice was low, keeping the conversation private.

A long sigh escaped through the speaker before Thorin spoke. "What did you do?"

"Nothin' you need to trouble yerself over. Don't worry, you won't be readin' about them maggots in the paper. I kept it simple and direct. He's lower'n scum, but I doubt he's stupid enough to cross me. I went in wearing my colors. He saw the club emblem. He doesn't want to fuck with the Angels."

Another sigh, this one exasperated. "Dwalin, when are you going to grow up and get a life?"

Dwalin grinned. Thorin could hear it in his voice. "I've got a life, mate. Just because you don't approve of it doesn't mean I don't have one."

"You're going to end up dead or in prison."

"Haven't yet." He took a deep breath and said, "Look, I did it for Kili and Dis, so you don't owe me anything."

"I'm not keeping a scorecard, Dwalin." Thorin's voice had an edge to it.

Tired of the conversation, Dwalin changed the subject. "So, what time do we eat? If I'm still invited, that is." He was never sure of his welcome around Thorin.

"Eighteen hundred and don't be late."

"Yeah, I'll be there at six. I wouldn't want ta piss off the chef."

Thorin laughed, easing the tension between them. "Probably not the best idea. We'll be looking for you...and thanks again."

Dwalin thumbed the mobile off and then opened his contacts and dialed. Kili answered almost immediately. He knew that Kili had set his ringtone to Scotland the Brave, so he just started talking.

"It's done. They won't bother you or yours again."

"What did you do? You didn't kill them, did you?" Kili's voice was hushed and strained with worry.

"Nah, they're not worth it. I gave 'em what they gave you, lad. No more. No less. I thought they should be the ones to piss blood for a few days." He kept his voice low and calm.

Kili breathed a sigh of relief. "When you called I was afraid you'd bring your mates."

"And bring on a turf war?" Dwalin snorted. "You don't call in the army when one man can do ta'job. These boggins are small time and it will be a while before they crawl outta their hole again. You even see one on the street, you call me. Understand?"

"Yes." Kili's voice was small and sounded far away.

"And Kili..."

"What?"

"Get a haircut."

“How do you know I need one.”

“’’Cause you always need one.”

They were still laughing when they disconnected.

Dwalin looked around and found the pub was starting to fill up with the afternoon crowd. He cocked an eyebrow as he realized that he'd managed to pick a bar near a university. Just his luck. He got up and headed for the bog before leaving, pushing past the students who seemed fascinated by his vest with its Blue Angels logo.

The loo was a surprise, clean and bright with windows that opened into what looked like a small park. He finished and was washing his hands when he heard what sounded like the squeak of a mouse. From long experience, Dwalin knew that it was the sound a man makes when he's trying to scream with no air in his lungs. He started out the door when he heard it again, coming from park area in back.

He spotted the bartender and yelled. "Call 999, someone out back's gettin' ta'worst of it!"

A half dozen quick strides took him to the rear door and he burst through it, trying to find the source of the sound. He heard voices to his left behind a shed. His long legs covered the ground quickly and he rounded the corner to find three young men kicking a small man curled on the ground.

He grabbed the first one and threw him headfirst into the shed, not bothering to watch as he slumped senseless to the ground. The second turned to run only to find Dwalin's fist blocking his path. He dropped to the ground next to his mate. The third had found his wings and was sprinting across the park. The Scotsman thought about giving chase but decided he'd better stay with their victim.

The pub had emptied and they all tried to press around the little man and his two unconscious assailants. They were taking photos and videos with their phones. Some were laughing as if this were the cinema and not real.

Turning on them Dwalin raised his fists. "Gerrouta here, ya bloody chavs! This is no fuckin' show--a man almost died. Get back inside before I put ya on ta'ground with these two!"

Almost in unison they turned and fled, leaving him along with the injured man.

Dwalin knelt down and pressed his fingers to the man's neck. Blessedly there was a pulse. He was unconscious but alive. Afraid to touch him, Dwalin looked him over. He was small and slight with a face that wouldn't have been handsome even before they'd had a go at it. His shirt was thin and ripped. If he'd had a jacket, it was long gone. The weather wasn't that warm and he thought he saw the man shiver. Pulling off his vest, he laid it over the man's chest and back.

He felt so utterly helpless. He had no problem handling Kili's attackers, but he didn't know anything about taking care of someone who had been hurt so badly. He felt like it was something he should know and it grated on him that he didn't.

He sat and crossed his legs, studying the peculiar looking little man. His features were sort of cockeyed but in a cute way. He was very slight and couldn't have weighed over ten stone. Lank brown hair was disarrayed and sticky with blood on his left temple. Dwalin found himself reaching out and straightening it a bit as if that might help. It was the only kindness he knew how to give. He wondered what color the man's eyes would be. He thought they should be brown…a soft, gentle brown.

Dropping his head, Dwalin chuckled at himself. Here he was with an unconscious man, who was in all likelihood straight, and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn't be the type to be interested in an outlaw biker. He looked like a professor at a uni. He'd probably be mortified to have been rescued by the likes of Dwalin.

Before he had time to dwell on it any further the gardai arrived. Taking one look at Dwalin, they approached him with guns drawn. He sat still with his hands raised. By the time the barkeeper had come out to tell them that Dwalin was actually the one who told him to call emergency, the big Scotsman was laying facedown on the grass with his hands cuffed behind his back. He hadn't argued. It was pointless. Police everywhere saw what they expected to see and he didn't want to give them any cause to be afraid of him.

Grudgingly, they uncuffed him without apology and allowed him to stand. The senior officer pointed to the two miscreants who were just now coming around. "You do that?"

Dwalin nodded. He kept his face carefully neutral. "They were beating up that bloke. One got away."

"You didn't chase him?" The officer was still suspicious.

"No. I thought I should stay with him." He pointed to the little man.

The officer grunted in response. "Probably just as well. These two pieces of shite will be able to tell us who he is. That is if their daddy's lawyer doesn't get them off without charges."

Dwalin nodded. He knew how it worked for the privileged. They were obviously well off from the look of their clothes and proximity to the university. They were just some rich little psychopaths stomping someone smaller and weaker for fun. He watched the officers cuff them and help them to their feet. They'd get a brief stop at a hospital before being transported to the station. However, the little man would have a bit longer stay.

The Scotsman wanted to go to the hospital with him, but he quietly accompanied the garda to the station. He'd protested that he didn't want to leave his motorcycle at the pub just in case of retaliation, but the bartender, who turned out to be the owner, said he'd watch out for it. It was plain to see his delight at the man he expected to cause trouble turning out to be a hero.

He called out to Dwalin as he got in the police car, "You drink here free anytime, mate!"

Grinning, Dwalin waved to him as they sped away.

 

* * * * *

 

The police interviews took longer than he'd expected and Dwalin had to call Thorin and tell him that he was going to be late. His cousin's irritation turned to understanding once the situation was explained. He told Dwalin that Kili was waiting for him and that they would eat when he got there.

All in all, things went better at the station than he'd expected. He wasn't the bad guy for once and was treated with a modicum of respect. He managed to find out that the little man's name was improbably Orion Ri and that he was seriously injured but would pull through. Relieved, the rest of the time at the station sped by. He was even given a ride back to his bike by a squad car, something that was probably never going to happen again.

He kicked the Chief into a roaring start, waved goodbye to the bartender and sped off down the street. He was supposed to be heading for Thorin’s but found himself heading for St. James Hospital instead. He found parking and walked in, wondering why he was here and why he was so bloody nervous.

He went up to the information desk and asked where Orion was, wincing when he found that he was currently in the High Dependency ward. The receptionist assured him that since he was there instead of ICU and could have visitors, it meant that they just wanted to watch him. Dwalin thanked her and started to walk to the elevator. The gift shop caught his eye.

So many different kinds of flowers. There were plants and interesting little knickknacks that wouldn’t be an appropriate gift from a man you didn’t know. But then, were flowers appropriate? Could he even have them? What would he like? Did he even like flowers?

“Excuse me.” The soft voice came from the area of his right elbow. He looked down and saw a small elderly woman smiling up at him.

“You don’t know what to buy.” It wasn’t a question.

He shook his head, relieved that someone was coming to his rescue for once. “I haven’t a bloody clue.”

Her smile grew even wider. “Who are they for, if I may ask?”

Was he blushing? He felt like he was blushing. “For a friend. Uh, a bloke.”

“Ach, that’s nice that you want to bring him some flowers. People say men don’t like flowers, but my husband loves them. I always take him something with lilies in it so they smell.” She shook her head. “Flowers are grander now than they were when I was young, but they don’t have a scent anymore. I think I’d rather be havin’ the scent, wouldn’t you?”

Dwalin nodded. In truth, he’d have agreed to anything she said, but he did prefer flowers with smell, when he thought of flowers at all.

She pulled out a bouquet that had a lily mixed with red and white carnations and a bit of baby’s breath tucked in. “Here, this one is cheerful and the colors are strong and well…manly.” She giggled and Dwalin laughed with her.

He thanked her again, paid for his bouquet and a clear glass vase to hold them. The walk to the elevator and then up to the 7th floor seemed to take forever. He walked down the silent hall past nurses who all seemed to be on a mission. One of them asked who he was here to see, nodded and then pointed to the end of the hall.

“He’s sedated, but when he wakes I know he’ll appreciate the flowers.”

“How is he?” Dwalin asked hesitantly.

She frowned. “He’s in rough shape, they did a right job on him, but nothin’s broken. I’ll wager he’ll feel like everything is when he wakes up, though. We’re just keepin’ him here for the night, just in case. Tomorrow he’ll be transferred to a regular room.”

She hurried off and Dwalin continued to Orion’s room. He peeked around the corner, feeling like an idiot. There were two beds with Orion’s on the right. The other bloke looked to be in much worse shape with several tubes and machines hooked to him. Orion had only a blood pressure clip on his finger.

He was tiny in the stark white hospital bed, the bruises on his face the only color. He looked terrible and Dwalin was shot through with regret that he hadn’t heard him earlier to stop the carnage before it had progressed so far.

He advanced slowly and set the flowers on the nightstand. “Ach, ya wee bairn.” His whisper was so soft Orion might not have heard it had he been awake. A lock of hair was hanging across his forehead and the Scotsman reached out to move it but drew back for fear of harming him.

“You can touch him.”

It was the nurse he’d spoken to in the hall. She smiled with understanding. “He’s not so broken that a loving touch will do him harm. On some level, he might even know you’re here and find comfort in it.”

Dwalin’s eyes widened. Was he that obvious? No, he told himself. It was just the concern anyone would have for something small and hurt. That’s all she was picking up on and that was all he felt. Wasn’t it?

Huge tender fingers picked up the errant lock of hair and put it back in place. Such a funny looking little guy, kind of cockeyed as though he’d made a face and it had stuck that way. No, he wasn’t at all handsome. But he was cute…in a stray puppy kind of way. Yeah, that was it. He was a stray puppy and Dwalin felt responsible for him because he’d saved him. There was nothing wrong with that. It didn’t mean anything when he sat down next to Orion and held his hand for a few moments either. Nothing at all.

 

* * * *

 

He arrived at half seven and was nearly knocked off his bike by an enthusiastic Kili who launched himself at Dwalin with all the energy he possessed. At sixteen he was tall and lanky to the point of being skinny, but even still healing he was all muscle and energy.

He arrived at half seven and was nearly knocked off his bike by an enthusiastic Kili who launched himself at Dwalin with all the energy he possessed. At sixteen he was tall and lanky to the point of being skinny, but even still healing he was all muscle and energy.

Dwalin swung off the bike and hugged him back, marveling at how much he'd grown in the last two years. "It's good ta'see ya, laddie."

He peeled Kili's arms from around his middle. "Ach laddie, if I'da seen you before I went I'da given 'em another few shots." He looked at the rainbow of bruises across the boy's cheek and his brows furrowed. "No more fuckin' around with chavs. Leave the maggots in the gutter where they belong."

"Like you should talk," Kili shot back, only partly kidding.

"I didn't run with 'em when I was supposed to be doin' muh studies, ya wee boggin." He ruffled Kili's hair affectionately. "Just because I'm the black sheep o' ta'family doesn't go givin' ya permission ta do it too."

Kili nodded, his large eyes going even wider. "I've learned my lesson."

"You've grown so much. Y'er almost a man now. It's time to start actin' like one and make y'er mum proud of ya."

Kili looked up at him. "I really fucked up, but I swear I learned my lesson." He hugged Dwalin again. "Thanks for being there for me."

"I'll always be there for ya, Kee. Always. Now let's eat before the roast is totally dry and Bilbo kicks me into next week."

Thorin met him at the door and looked at him critically.

Dwalin felt like checking his zipper, but he knew Thorin was just looking to make sure nothing associated with the Blue Angels came into the house. He didn't need to worry. Dwalin had stored his vest in the saddlebags on the bike before he'd gone with the gardai.

He grinned at his cousin. "I'm clean, well...as clean as a bloke who's been in two fights can be."

Thorin relented and held out his hand. "I owe you. Nothing I can ever do can repay you for what you did today."

Dwalin got an ‘aw shucks’ look on his face. "No problem. Sorry about bein' late for dinner."

"It couldn't be helped. Now get in here and stop apologizing, my roast is already on its last legs. If we don't eat soon it won't be fit for man nor beast." Bilbo popped out from behind Thorin, wearing an expression that was an astounding combination of humor, concern, and irritation.

"Go wash up and put something on those skinned knuckles of yours. The medicine cabinet has some ointment that will take the sting out. You know where the loo is."

He vanished back into the kitchen and Thorin gave a little smile and a shrug as if to say, "Humor him."

Dwalin burst out laughing. "If there was ever one thing ya done right, mate, it was glomming on'ta that one and not lettin' go."

Thorin laughed and nodded as he stepped out of the way. Kili was right behind and stopped to give Thorin a hug. Thorin always had a mix of delight and dismay at his openly demonstrative nephew and his expression as he resisted the hug for a moment and then gave in to it, made Dwalin laugh harder.

In spite of Bilbo's fussing, the roast was perfect and the side dishes amazing. Every meal with him was a feast and the Scotsman could never understand how Thorin managed to stay in shape. Dwalin had seconds. Kili had thirds. It was good to see that nothing dampened the typical teenage appetite. The lad looked good even with all the healing bruises coloring his face. He was definitely a heartbreaker with those chocolate eyes and the easy smile.

Kili helped Bilbo clear the table and then came back with a magnificent chocolate cake. He set it in front of Dwalin and grinned. "It's from Mum to say thanks." He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. "She also sent some shortbread cookies for you."

Dwalin blushed a little. He knew that Dis didn't like him and that she must be incredibly grateful for his intervention to have made all this to send to him. He wished he could talk with her, but that had ended years ago when he joined the Blue Angels. He was just grateful that she still allowed contact with Kili as long as they were with Thorin. She was a tight-arse, but she was still his cousin and he loved her with all his heart.

"So what're ya up to?" he asked Kili between bites of the cake that tasted even better than it looked.

"I've been riding my bike a lot," was the quick reply. "Mum got me a BMX bike and I can do stunts with it. It's really cool. I could bring it by tomorrow and show you." Kili's eyes were shining with enthusiasm for his new hobby.

"I'm headin' back home tonight, laddie. Maybe next time." He saw the light in Kili's eyes die. Shit!

He was saved by Bilbo who leaned over and said, "You can have the guest room. I'm sure Thorin has some pajamas you can borrow."

Thorin’s eyebrow rose, but then he looked at Bilbo’s expression and he nodded in agreement. If there was anyone in this world Thorin doted on as more than Bilbo it was his nephew. If putting Dwalin up for the night would make Kili happy after what he'd been through then that was what would be done.

"I dinna want ta'put ya out," he replied looking at Thorin for permission to stay.

His cousin smiled gently at him. "It's no trouble at all. We're glad to have you. Kili will show you what he's been learning." He turned his smile toward his nephew. "He's collecting bruises like they're trading cards, but he's pretty good on that little bike. It'll be good for him to have a bigger audience."

Dwalin laughed, feeling relief wash over him. "I'll look forward to watchin' ya."

They spent the next hour sipping coffee and listening to Kili regale them with tales of his new bike, school, his new bike, Dis, his new bike, and even a few bits and bobs about himself. Toward the end of the conversation Kili surprised him by coming out. It was obvious that both Thorin and Bilbo knew and had been supporting him.

His nephew looked at him with worried eyes, but Dwalin smiled at him. "I guess it does run in families. Dinna worry, laddie I got yer back on this as well. It's not the easiest thing sometimes, but never deny who you are. I'd tell you to remember ta'stay safe, but I'm guessin' yer uncles here have that covered."

Kili blushed. Yeah, he was a heartbreaker all right. He nodded and said, "I'm not seeing anyone, but if I do I'll remember." He glanced at Thorin and Dwalin smiled a little knowing that "the talk" must have been a beaut.

Kili relaxed now that he was safe and his secret was out. He was a hyper, funny lad who delighted in talking non-stop, laughing whenever possible. He regaled them with tales of his new bike, his mates at school, his new bike, his mum and, of course, his new bike. Thorin looked a little annoyed now and again, but Dwalin was hugely enjoying himself. It was good to just sit with people you loved and laugh.

When it was finally time for Kili to go home, he had to be pried off of Dwalin’s middle. “You promise you’ll be here tomorrow?”

No one could say no to those huge pleading eyes. “Of course I’ll be here. I want to see your new bike and you can show me what you can do with it.”

Kili fist-bumped him and raced out the door toward the car with Thorin yelling after him, “Use the door—not the window!

After they left Bilbo picked up the cups. He paused and smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling. “It’s good to have you here, Dwalin. Don’t be such a stranger. You know Thorin’s all bark. He misses you. He doesn’t have all that many friends and you two go so far back.”

“Aye, that we do,” Dwalin replied. “Yer a good man, Bilbo. You’ve helped Thorin be a good man too. His da was a piece o’work, even worse’n mine and heaven knows mine was bad. Somehow ta’men in our family got the idea that parentin’ takes fists and a sharp tongue.”

Bilbo looked sad for a moment. “Thank God this generation is breaking that charming little tradition.”

“Am I?” Dwalin was startled to be included.

“Oh, you run with them, but you’re a different kind of angel. Some day you’ll figure that out.” The twinkle was back in his eyes. “Why don’t you call hospital and ask about that young man, I know it’s bothering you. I’d like to know how he’s doing, too.”

Dwalin watched Bilbo disappear into the kitchen. He pulled out his mobile and looked up the number for St. James. He dialed and pressed the number for patient information. Ori (Dwalin had taken to thinking of him that way due to his inability to tolerate one more thought about a bloke named Orion) was still sedated, but he was doing well and would be moved to a regular ward tomorrow.

It was getting late, so he popped into the kitchen for a minute to update Bilbo and then went up to bed. He took a long hot shower and then lay in bed thinking about the day. He’d gone from beating the shit out of four men to wishing he could heal the fifth. It was an odd feeling and he didn’t know if he liked it or not.

Thorin was already gone by the time Dwalin came downstairs in the morning. Bilbo cheerfully fixed some eggs and sausage for him, along with a stack of toast and homemade orange marmalade. Not used to being fussed over, the Scotsman nodded his thanks and slid into a chair to marvel at the bounty before him.

“Coffee or tea?” Bilbo asked as he set a stoneware mug before him – no dainty cups for the brawny Scot.

“Coffee, if it’s no trouble.”

“None at all.” He poured the coffee and then slid into the chair opposite Dwalin.

Bilbo took a sip of his tea and smiled. “You’re welcome to stay here for a bit. I know you’re worried about the man you saved and Kili will be delighted. Thorin will too, although he’d never admit it.”

Dwalin’s forkful of eggs paused halfway to his mouth. “Are you sure?” Being invited to stay was the last thing he expected. He felt like looking outside to see if a flock of pigs was flying over.

Bilbo laughed delightedly. “I know you joined the Blue Angels to spite your father; so do Thorin and Dis. Now that he’s passed, why not stop acting like a rebellious teen and come on down to Dublin and be close to your family?”

The big Scotsman scowled. “I joined fer m’self.”

“Sure you did. Just keep telling yourself that. You’re an Oakenshield. For all the darkness that’s covered the name for the last generation, you’ve always been proud warriors going back to the days of the clans. You are descended from a High Chief—never forget that. You consort with ruffians, but you have royal blood in your veins and a higher calling. You’ll find it some day.”

He picked up his cup of tea and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Dwalin staring at his cooling breakfast, completely confused.

  

* * * *

 

Embarrassingly, when Dwalin arrived the hospital he got cold feet. He asked if Ori had been moved to a regular room and found that he had. He paced around and ended up back in the gift shop. He’d already taken flowers. He looked at the chocolates, but they were probably not appropriate for a man he hadn’t even technically met. He looked around feeling ever more frantic until his eyes lit on a teddy bear. Paddington had been one of his favorite stories as a lad. Paddington with his silly red felt hat, yellow boots, and blue duffle coat was like an island in the great ocean of gifts.

Tucking Paddington under his arm, Dwalin peeked around the corner and saw Ori was still sleeping. Quietly he entered the room and set the little bear next to the flowers. He was nearly out the door when a soft voice with a British accent stopped him.

“Aren’t you even going to introduce yourself?”

Dwalin turned and found the small man lying there looking up at him…and his eyes really were the softest brown.

“The nurses said I had a visitor. My family doesn’t live close enough to have come and I couldn’t imagine who it was. They think you’re my boyfriend. I hope that doesn’t offend you.” He tried to smile, but it was doomed to failure, still his dark eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I din’na mind. I mean… Aye, it’s okay. Uh…yeah.” Realizing that he should shut up he took his own advice and just stood there looking at Ori.

He thought he looked like an idiot. Ori did not agree.

“So who are you? It’s not every day that tall handsome men come and visit me when I’m unconscious.” Ori was having some trouble talking, but Dwalin hung on every word.

‘I…uh…just wanted to make sure yer okay.” He fidgeted and didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“That’s kind of you, but why do you care…about me, that is? How do you even know me? And why would you bring me gifts?” He made an attempt at reaching for Paddington but between the blood pressure clip and his sore muscles he only succeeded in waving his arm in the bear’s general direction.

Dwalin came over and handed Paddington to him. Ori took the little bear with an expression of absolute delight.

“He’s my favorite. How did you know? Have I actually died and you’re really an angel?” The look in his eyes said he was only half joking.

Dwalin chuckled and shook his head. ‘I’m a Blue Angel, but I dinna think that counts. I’m the bloke tha’told the chavs to leave ye be. Ah jist wanted ta check on’ya. I dinna want ta’keep ya.” His Glasgow accent had gotten heavier with his nervousness and he realized he was bordering on being unintelligible. He shut up again.

Ori’s laugh was a soft bubble held in check by his bruises. “Please pull up a chair and talk to me some more. I can’t understand a bloody thing you’re saying, but I love to hear you say it.”

Blushing, Dwalin pulled a chair over and sat down. “I’ll slow down. I really can talk proper English,” he said slowly. “I’m from Glasgow and no one can butcher the King’s English quite the way we can.”

“Oh but it’s not half so interesting if I can understand you,” Ori countered. He was smiling and hugging Paddington.

Dwalin threw back his head and laughed. Ori joined him, or as much as he was able. The two of them sat there chuckling for a few minutes and then the small man’s brows knitted and he became serious.

“I thought they were going to kill me.” He pulled Paddington close, squeezing the little bear tighter.

Dwalin’s eyes misted a little, but he ignored it. “So did I. Why’d they come for ya like that?”

Ori shook his head, a small sob catching in his throat. “I don’t know. I’m small. I’m gay. They didn’t like my clothes. I just don’t know. One minute I was walking across the park and the next I was on the ground.”

A tear made its way down his cheek and he raised his hand to brush it away, but the pain of moving was too bad and he settled for turning his head away from Dwalin. The Scot took a deep breath and stood up. Pulling out some tissue he leaned over and wiped away the tears.

“It’s okay to cry. I will’na think less of ya. What happened was bloody awful. Ya must hurt all over.” He took Ori’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Ori squeezed back.

Dwalin sat back down, still holding Ori’s hand. The smaller man lay still, but his breathing was irregular. The Scot noticed that he was biting his lower lip.

“When was the last time ya had somethin’ fer pain?” He couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

“I don’t remember, but if I get something I’ll go to sleep and when I wake you’ll be gone and this will just have been a dream.” The words were so soft Dwalin could barely hear him.

“I’ll be here.” Dwalin squeezed his hand. “Dinna worry.”

He pressed the call light and sat quietly, still holding Ori’s hand. The nurse answered and asked what he needed. She came in with an injection that she administered as gently as possible.

She looked at Dwalin holding her patient’s hand and smiled. “He’ll sleep now, so you can take a break now if you wish.”

Dwalin shook his head. “I’ve nowhere else ta’be. I’ll stay if ya dinna mind.”

The nurse didn’t mind at all.

 

* * * *

 

Dwalin had nearly nodded off himself when he heard a whisper from the bed.

“You stayed.”

“I promised.”

“And you’re still holding my hand…”

Dwalin didn’t have to wonder if he was blushing, the heat from it went all the way down to his toes. “Yeah, I am. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay, it’s bloody amazing.” Ori gave that crooked little smile and Dwalin felt his heart skip a beat.

He sat there feeling like a complete fool, but he didn’t let go of Ori’s hand.

There was a noise that made them both look up. Two garda stood there. The shorter one had a decided smirk on his face. The nurse pushed past them to get to Ori.

“They’ve come to take your statement, if you’re up to it. If you’re not, they can come back later.” She checked the pulse monitor and stood waiting for his answer.

Ori looked up at Dwalin and then at the garda. The short red-head had that look he’d come to know so well. He didn’t care if a queer got his arse kicked. He wouldn’t have cared if Ori had been killed—one less pervert in the world, as far as he was concerned. But the other had a neutral expression that was not unkind. He looked at the bruises and Ori could see his eyes darken. This officer would make them pay for what they did if he could.

Ori nodded. “Yes. I think I can manage.” He looked at Dwalin. “Can you stay?”

Dwalin gave a curt nod, his eyes never leaving the officers. “Aye, I’ll stay.”

Ginger-smirk took a step forward and shook his head. “You wait outside, this is a police matter. You can get back to yer hand-holdin’ when we leave.”

Dwalin’s face went cold. “I stay.”

“You and yer ‘friend’ can get back to it when we’re done.” He squared his shoulders to draw attention to his uniform and badge, neither of which impressed the Scotsman in the slightest.

The taller garda put a restraining hand on Ginger-smirk’s wrist. “Tom, I believe this is the gentleman who came to Mr. Ri’s aid. He’s a Blue Angel so you’d best watch your tongue.” The expression on his face showed how much he enjoyed being able to say that to his partner.

Tom was still smirking. “Oh is that so, Mr…”

“Fundinson,” Dwalin supplied, rising until he towered over the officer.

“Yes, I do ride with the Blue Angels and yes, I was the one who came to Mr. Ri’s aid.” His Glaswegian accent had vanished to be replaced by almost perfectly inflected King’s English. “Mr. Ri wishes me to stay and as I have a direct connection to this incident, I am not inclined to leave.”

Tom’s smug look vanished in direct proportion to the enjoyment his partner was getting from the exchange. He nodded once. “You can stay.”

The taller officer said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Fundinson” He smiled, breaking the tension. “I’m a fan of your work, well in this case anyway.”

Dwalin’s eyebrow rose, he wasn’t sure what to make of the officer’s manner.

The garda held his hand out. “I’m Officer O’Brien and this is Officer Harrison.”

Dwalin shook his hand and noted that Harrison was pointedly ignoring him. And garda wondered why some folks didn’t like them…

Office O’Brien motioned to the chair, suggesting that Dwalin could be seated. “It would be helpful if you had anything to add. Perhaps something that slipped your mind yesterday at the station.”

Dwalin nodded and took his seat. This time he did not take Ori’s hand and noticed out of the corner of his eye that the smaller man had shoved Paddington under the covers.

Questioning Ori didn’t take very long. One minute he’d been walking along, thinking about his doctoral dissertation, and the next he was on the ground trying to protect himself. There wasn’t much to say. Dwalin was the one who had seen them and apprehended two of them.

“We have two in custody, they’re a bit bunged up but very talkative.” Officer O’Brian said lightly. “I expect the third miscreant will be along shortly if he isn’t in custody already.”

“What will happen…to them…I mean,” Ori asked softly.

“They attacked an unarmed man with the intent to do bodily harm, so they will face the judge, bail will be set, charges will be filed and they will have to legally face up to what they did to you.” He looked at Ori kindly. “They won’t be doing it again, lad, so don’t you be worrying.”

“What…what if I don’t press charges?” Ori’s voice was almost a whisper.

“Why ever wouldn’t you want to?” This time it was Officer Harrison. “You’re a sight. They did a right job on you if you don’t mind me saying.”

Ori nodded. “If they are convicted they will be expelled and their lives could be ruined. Suppose it only makes them worse?”

“Dwalin’s head snapped around. “ Are ya afraid they’ll come after ya again?”

“No, that’s not it.” He took a long breath and they could all see that talking hurt. “What good will come of it, if the only lesson they learn is not to get caught? Do you think we could arrange for them to do community service at Q Soc so they can learn instead of being punished?”

Officer O’Brian was smiling. “You want them to have to associate with gays? That might be worse punishment than jail for the likes of them.”

Ori gave a little smile. “Maybe, but I’m hoping they learn that we’re not so different and there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He paused and looked at Dwalin as if drawing strength. “It may be that one or more of them is gay and is so afraid that they lash out.”

Harrison shook his head. “So you’re sayin’ that you want to help them rather than lock them up?”

Ori nodded, big eyes soft, his brow furrowed. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The officer shook his head and then looked at his partner. “I’ve never head anything like this. I thought you’d want to get your own back. You’re a brave man, Mr. Ri.”

Ori shook his head. “Not brave, just peaceful.”

When the gardai left, Dwalin looked over at Ori and quietly reached out and took his hand again. He looked at the smaller man, seeing past the bruises and the funny crooked face.

"That was amazing, what you did." His voice was respectful, his accent almost silent. "They almost killed you and yet you don't want to take their future."

Ori shook his head. "Hate breeds hate. If they learn we aren't really different maybe there won't be a next time. Maybe they will stop someone else from doing this." He looked up at Dwalin and tried to smile. "Besides, it sounded as if they didn't get off unscathed."

The Scotsman looked at his skinned knuckles. "Yeah, they paid a bit. Not enough to suit me, but I'm a heathen."

Ori laughed delightedly and then winced. All the talking had made his face start aching. "You're a knight in shining armor."

Dwalin knew he was as red as a beet and couldn't help it. No one had ever called him anything like that before. No one ever looked at him like Ori did, either. "Well, I dinna have much choice."

Ori nodded. "Maybe, but you didn't have to bring me presents or sit here and hold my hand."

Dwalin was spared from more embarrassment when the nurse showed up with Ori's lunch tray. She looked at Dwalin pointedly and said, "Visiting hours are over until fourteen hundred."

Dawdling, he saw the nurse uncover a tray that consisted of broth that smelled terrible and a bowl of Jell-O. "I know it's not the Ritz, but you’ll be back on solid food before you know it."

Ori gave Dwalin a ‘just shoot me’ look and poked the cup twice before abandoning it. He just couldn't bring himself to eat the murky liquid.

The nurse was fussing with his blood pressure monitor and noticed that he hadn't eaten. "You need to eat something, Mr. Ri, so you can take your medication."

He picked up the little cup of soup and nearly dropped it. Dwalin swooped in and captured it, gently holding it to Ori's lips. He took a taste and winced. The big Scot sniffed it and put it back on the tray. "Ack, it smells like an old boot."

The nurse frowned but didn't contradict him. 'You'll have to leave while he eats and takes a nap. You may return at two." Her demeanor booked no denial.

Dwalin left feeling like a betrayer for leaving Ori in pain with an inedible lunch. When he got to the waiting area, he pulled out his mobile and rang Bilbo.

The chef surprised him by arriving at the hospital in less than an hour carrying a basket that no doubt contained many wondrous and mysterious things. He greeted Dwalin warmly and the two of them hid in a room until the nurse passed and then bolted into Ori's room, scaring the crap out of him.

Dwalin quickly spoke up. "This is Bilbo, he's my cousin Thorin’s partner. He's a bit of a dab hand with food."

Ori looked stunned. "I know you," he said, pointing at Bilbo. "Yours was my favorite cooking show."

Bilbo grinned at the wide-eyed little man and put his finger up to his lips. "You have excellent taste, young man. Now not a sound, or I will have to leave along with my special cream of chicken soup and raspberry scones."

Ori's eyes remained wide, but he shook his head as he indicated that he wasn't about to protest. It wasn’t everyday a celebrity TV chef magically appeared in your room to bring you lunch.

Bilbo took stock of the Paddington bear he was holding and the ghastly dark rainbow of bruises and welts that disfigured Ori's face. He approached the bed and unpacked the basket onto the nightstand. The soup was in a thermal cup decorated with clowns that was leftover from when Kili was little and used to spend the night. The straw was big and would pass soup easily.

"I pureed it so that you don’t have to chew," Bilbo said quietly. He helped Ori manage the cup, chuckling as the wide-eyed look turned to pure bliss.

"S'good," Ori mumbled around the straw. "You're both angels."

"If I was the food in Heaven would improve dramatically," Bilbo replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

He looked at Dwalin. "Oh go on, look in the basket. There's a ham sandwich for you in there."

The three of them dug in, Bilbo munching on one of his raspberry scones. Ori sipped at the soup and then allowed Bilbo to break off bits of scone and feed him as if he were a baby bird. Dwalin managed to polish off two of the scones while watching.

"You know, Bilbo, you'd make a great parent,” the Scotsman observed.

Bilbo laughed. "Taking care of handsome lads like this is as close as I ever want to get. I helped raise Kili and that's more than enough."

Bilbo smiled and looked at the two of them, so different and yet so perfect for one another. Their guest room was going to have an occupant for some time, or at least until Dwalin moved down from Glasgow.

After lunch, Bilbo took his leave but Dwalin stayed. He sat there looking at Ori, very much wanting to say something and very much afraid to speak.

When the silence became too uncomfortable he looked over and said, “I know a bloke like me don’t have the right to ask, but I’d like to…uh maybe take ya out to dinner. Well, after you get out of here, that is.”

Ori looked surprised and Dwalin took that for a “no.” He started to get up, but a gentle hand stayed him.

“Where do you think you’re going? My guardian angel is supposed to be by my side protecting me.” There was a twinkle in Ori’s eyes and one side of his mouth tugged up into a tiny smile.

“I’m not a guardian angel. Didn’t ya hear me say that I’m a Blue Angel and…”

Ori cut him off. “Blue is my favorite color and I know what you are. I also know what you aren’t. If Bilbo hadn’t come in I would have thought I dreamed you. You’re my Blue Angel.”

He smiled as much as the bruises would allow. “I’d love to go out to dinner with you. I want time to get to know you better.”

“Yeah, a bit of time.” Dwalin’s expression had shifted to hopeful.

“More than a bit,” Ori teased. “How much time do you have?”

Dwalin grinned back at him. “The rest of my life.”

 


End file.
